


If only

by winterandmistletoe



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Laurel Lance's mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterandmistletoe/pseuds/winterandmistletoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was sarcastic and witty, looking at her with those smirks again and drawling her name as she felt tremble in the stomach seeing him once more, but he wasn’t that Leonard who told her she wasn’t a killer anymore, not that Leonard who hold her in his arms while they’re freezing, not that Leonard who died a hero and even more than that</p>
            </blockquote>





	If only

…It was her photo.

She was standing in the middle of some dirty bar, arms crossed, faking sour face and hiding a little smirk in the corners of the mouth. Hair was messy as she just got up from bed.

On back side of the photo was a note, written by Leonard’s hand.

_This is Sara. She shows up sometimes, even she acting like she don’t know us, it shouldn’t bother you. Don’t be jerk with her as much as you can. She’s probably meta, every time we kiss her next morning we forget her. She likes playing gin, knows all of our tricks. We told her about Lisa and Mick (at least last time I did), and probably about Lewis too. Bar fights is her thing.  
She’s ours. Mine_

Sara ate a sob. She turned to bed there Snart was still sleeping. She saw his shoulder and a little of back, and his rarely peaceful face. In his sleep he looked so much younger, probably because he _was younger_.

She took a deep breath, calming herself and put a book at the shelf again, but never returned a photo. It shouldn’t be here.

 _She_ shouldn’t be here, but she was.

After Oculus, after that tears above empty grave with his name on the gravestone and another one, her sister’s – so much flowers, so much sorrow and pain, and Sara made a mistake as she let herself been selfish.

Again and again she was coming back in time to spend another hour with Laurel, just another talk, just another hug, a little more Laurel’s smile, Laurel’s voice, Laurel’s life. She was careful and tidy, always erasing from Laurel’s memory their extra days, and one day she decided to try the same with Leonard. Why not? Bastard never ask her permission to die, giving her every possible excuses to play with his memory.

He wasn’t exactly _her_ Snart. He was sarcastic and witty, looking at her with those smirks again and drawling her name as she felt tremble in the stomach seeing him once more, but he wasn’t that Leonard who told her she wasn’t a killer anymore, not that Leonard who hold her in his arms while they’re freezing, not that Leonard who died a hero and even more than that.

 _Her_ Leonard made his leaving legendary.

Yet his lips tasted the same. For the first, once or twice he was surprised then she kissed him, but after that he was more than welcome it, he started to initiate the kisses.

And now she knows, why.

Because of the photo.

Because he started to recognize her.

Snart thought she was a metahuman, well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. She became a professional in using any type of amnesia stuff: pills, serum, aerosol, so she could probably entere Fort Knox being not an Assassin, but Eraser.

But she never thought effect could drop with time.

Sara quickly dressed up and pocketed the photo, kissing his cheek and inhaling his scent, trying to convince herself _it was_ a last time. She took care of his memory yesterday, she took the photo from him and any evidence of her presence. It could be perfect ending. It could.

But she also knows her longing for her now-not-so-dead-but-eventually-dead boyfriend was too strong. Was too hard to keep herself in check without him.

Catch of being a time traveller: you can always see your loved ones, but soon it’ll be more like a drug. No relieve, no joy, just a desperate need and dark emptiness inside without them. And she couldn’t effort herself being dark.

_She’s ours. Mine_

If only.


End file.
